We go out in the world and are told to Bring back something “interesting.” So we bring back Trump’s failing marriage… Kanye for 2020… The latest police brutality… Drama on the Kardashians…  But they don’t think it’s interesting because no one asked for an exposé. But I think that’s a part of journalism, we frankly don’t give a damn what you think.  But they’re still mad. Mad at The Journalist, The Messenger, The Typist, The Delivery Boy screaming “Extras! Extras! Read all about it!” But no one wants to see it or hear it or read it because They say we’re liars. But we sit at old typewriters, Ready to piece the truth together.  We won’t backspace… No more white out.  Don’t shoot The Journalist for the material you asked for. Don’t shoot the messenger for the truth that you asked for.  Don’t shoot The Typist for doing their job. Don’t shoot The Delivery Boy for trying to earn a few extra bucks.  You’re only mad because you have become exposed;  Because everything you’ve tried to hide everyone will see.  “The revolution will not be televised!” Heron said, “The revolution will be live!” I refuse to apologize to your reputation; it’s not in my job description so    No more sugar-coating.  No more angry mobs breaking windows at the front entrance of the Washington Post. We will not be afraid to ask the burning question “is this true?” Or be afraid to pull our cellphones out, turn the flash off, and take a picture of you kissing that girl you said you never liked.   For we will seat ourselves in dim lighted rooms, Hovering over a typewriter that can’t backspace. Our bodies’ will be running on 2 hours of sleep and a pot of coffee; And we will piece together Tattered clippings of newspaper articles and magazine columns Only to send our delivery boy screaming “Extras! Extras! Read all about!” With a headline that reads  “Don’t shoot the messenger”